Marriage Proposals for Dummies
by The Silver Phoenix
Summary: A point man's guide to finding the perfect engagement ring. Arthur/Ariadne COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: Cut

**A/N: **Original prompt from LJ inception_kink: _Arthur's nervous about picking out an engagement ring for Ariadne. White gold? Yellow gold? Platinum? Double digit shapes to choose from? And what about carat, clarity, cut and colour? He gets advice from the rest of the team but none of it is particularly helpful. When he checks out her jewellery box to get her ring size, she notices something off later and figures out what's going on. She drops a hint about what she wants, but at this point he ignores whatever she says because he's already determined the perfect solution._

**Summary: **A point man's guide to finding the perfect engagement ring. Arthur/Ariadne

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimers apply throughout. _Inception_ and characters belong to Christopher Mind-Bending-Genius Nolan.

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**Marriage Proposals for Dummies**

A Point Man's Guide to Finding the Perfect Engagement Ring

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**Chapter 1: Cut**

_Tip #1: There is no such thing as too much research when it comes to women and their jewellery._

_Or:_

_Take all the luck you can get. (Chances are you'll need it.)_

* * *

Details were Arthur's job.

The point man prided himself on his specificity, his keen observational skills and his habit of jotting down organised notes with his 0.5mm Montblanc ballpoint pen, tiny spidery letters crawling in neat lines across the cream-coloured pages of his Moleskine notebook. It was his job to unearth encyclopaedic records of a mark's life, and to condense entire existences into a series of cold hard numbers and cold hard facts. Birth date, shoe size, favourite pizza toppings, the football club they have a soft spot for and that one song they listen to when they're depressed; the devil was always in the details.

But sometimes it was too easy to forget that paper didn't necessarily translate into a flesh-and-blood person, and that a living, breathing human being was a far cry from a ring-bound almanac of statistics. Things tended to get lost between the second and third dimensions, and that extra facet of reality was what made reality, well, _real_. Sometimes research – even when it was all the research in the world – was simply not enough. And unfortunately for Arthur, _this_ happened to be one of those tiring times.

_This_ being, of course, the all-important task of choosing the perfect engagement ring for Ariadne.

After dating for three years, Arthur had finally decided to pop the question, and being the stickler for tradition that he was, he had sought her parents' consent in advance. The point man could walk fearlessly into crossfire on a daily basis without so much as batting an eyelid, yet he had somehow succumbed to a case of the nerves when standing in Ariadne's father's study, asking for permission to seek her hand. He had hated having to lie about everything – how they had met, what he did for a living, where they planned to live; everything about the relationship except the way he felt about her – but it was a procedural precaution. As it turned out, though, that was actually the straightforward part, a figurative walk in the park compared to _this_.

Women – Arthur concluded, and not for the first time that day – were utterly unfathomable. Their taste in jewellery even more so.

First things first: white gold, yellow gold or even two-tone? How about platinum? And that was only the metals. On top of that, it was hard enough getting his head around the extensive list of possible shapes (oval, marquise, heart and pear-shape, to name but a few) without even having to worry about choosing a setting (pronged, bezel, tension, pave… the choices were endless).

Then there was the matter of the actual gemstone – a diamond seemed like the obvious option, but Ariadne had never openly stated a preference and an emerald, ruby or sapphire could potentially work as well. So much for knowing that 75% of women favoured diamonds, Arthur thought dryly, when he hadn't the faintest idea which side of the percentage divide _his_ woman belonged in.

Assuming it was a diamond, there were still the so-called four Cs to worry about: cut, clarity, colour and carat. After hours of tediously trawling through self-help articles on the internet, Arthur knew exactly how many facets a round-cut diamond had (58), the difference between inclusions and blemishes (inclusions are internal flaws, blemishes are external) and even the diamond clarity scale back to front (FL and IF all the way down to I3). But that didn't mean he was any closer to choosing the perfect engagement ring.

Because, he knew, it had to be perfect. Perfect was what Ariadne deserved and Arthur would never settle for anything less.

—

Cobb was the first person that Arthur confided in. The point man had wisely refrained from telling Eames and Yusuf about his plans; the former could be entrusted with guns and ammunition, the latter with fragile glass vessels and volatile compounds, but neither could be charged with the safekeeping of a secret. Cobb, however, was Arthur's oldest colleague, mentor and friend, almost a fatherly figure – and besides, being on another continent halfway around the world greatly minimised the chances of Ariadne accidentally finding out beforehand.

"Ah, I see you've finally worked up the courage" was the retired extractor's reaction when the news was revealed to him. Although Cobb had originally opposed the couple's relationship, explaining that their professional and personal lives were too dangerously intermingled like his and Mal's had been, he had eventually relented and given them their blessing. Arthur could picture him grinning now over the phone: a beam of joy marred by hidden sorrow, a smile tinted with the shade of regret.

"I've never been so scared in my life, Dom," Arthur confessed in a rare display of emotion. "I mean, how can you tell when it's the right time to propose?"

"Well, you… you _feel _it, I suppose. I remember, with Mal, I knew straightaway it was the right thing to do." There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation; the topic inevitably reminded Cobb of his own loss, like a souvenir from a haunted past that could never be discarded, and somewhere in the shadowed vaults of his mind, a ghostly voice dripped words like honeyed nightshade. _Do you remember when you asked me to marry you? _the shade whispered._ You said you dreamt that we'd grow old together. _But he derailed this runaway train of thought before it got completely out of control, and pressed on quickly: "Getting married is a huge step and the important thing is to ask yourself if it's what you really want."

Arthur hesitated, his stuttered breathing rasping in the silence.

"Let me put it this way," Cobb counselled. "You don't marry someone that you can live with; you marry the one person you can't live without. So is Ariadne that person?"

Arthur pondered this for a moment. Before the Fischer job, he had never been involved with anyone for more than a few hours, let alone a serious relationship. There was no point pretending that the series of one-night stands and temporary hook-ups were anything more than just that: lust-driven ruses to make an empty hotel room in a foreign city seem a little less lonely. A procession of pretty girls; a flurry of frantic hands and limbs and unfocused faces, dirty thoughts and naughty words with no real meaning. He told himself it was because he couldn't afford to get romantically attached – look what happened to Cobb, he had argued – but the only person he was fooling was himself.

Ariadne, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Somehow he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave when she fell asleep curled up against him after their first night together, and when he woke up still in that same position and saw her looking back at him with sleepy chocolate-brown eyes… something had stirred in him, something he didn't have a name for at the time. It took him weeks to identify that new feeling as trust, as _belonging_ – it was a lot easier opening up to her since he didn't have to fabricate a whole new alternative alias for himself – but when he did, he hadn't _wanted_ to leave anymore. Not then and not ever.

"Yes," Arthur said, with assured sincerity. "Yes, she definitely is."

"Then it's the right decision and you have nothing to worry about."

"OK," he allowed. "But what if I choose a ring and she doesn't like it? What if I mess up the proposal?"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Arthur?"

"_I'm serious, Cobb, what if she says no?_"

"I've known you for ten years and I can safely say that I've never seen you anywhere near this distressed before." Cobb's voice held a distinct trace of amusement. "I'll take that as a good sign, though; an indication that you've learned to think with your heart instead of your head. I know I originally had my doubts, but I can see that you and Ariadne have worked hard to make your bond stronger over the years. Things will get tougher but you truly deserve every happiness in your lives together, and knowing her, I doubt she'll refuse."

"Thanks, Dom. You're getting sentimental in your old age," Arthur laughed, but his heart swelled at the encouragement nonetheless.

"What can I say? Retirement does strange things to people," Cobb quipped, and Arthur was glad to hear his friend reverting back to his old self again. He would never be able to forget Mal, but at least with the happiness that his children brought, he had moved on and learned to enjoy life again. As if to emphasise this, the sound of a boy's singsong voice and a girl's carefree laughter floated momentarily in the background. "Look, I have to take Phillipa and James to school now, but send my regards to the others, will you?"

The point man duly promised to do so.

"Oh, and Arthur?" Cobb added before hanging up. "I'm proud of you and Ariadne, for not making the same mistakes that I made. Good luck."

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**A/N: **To be continued, with more fluff and humour to come in later chapters. In the meantime, please check out my other _Inception_ fanfics too. Reviews are always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2: Clarity

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Chapter 2: Clarity

_Tip #2: Snooping around one's own apartment is not quite as easy as it seems._

**_Or:_**

_Kissing is an excellent distraction technique. (It's always worth a shot.)_

* * *

Thanks to Google, Arthur discovered that most of the how-to websites on the internet gave more or less the same advice when choosing an engagement ring: find out what she likes by looking at the jewellery that she already owns, and then consult her female friends and relatives. Since the extraction team was now probably the closest thing Ariadne had to friends and family, and none of the team members happened to be female – except, perhaps, Eames on the odd occasion in dreams – in the end Arthur decided to do some sleuthing of his own.

The upshot of Ariadne's messy lifestyle combined with Arthur's meticulous organisation was that she tended to leave things lying around their apartment in the most unexpected places (the other day, she left the keys in the freezer while she ran off to answer the call of architectural inspiration) and he tended to pick them up and replace them in a more logical locale (back in her worn leather messenger bag; she hadn't even noticed they were missing). As a result, he knew precisely where all her belongings – including the few rings that she rarely wore – were kept.

So that evening, while Ariadne was in the shower, Arthur took the opportunity to sneak over to the dressing table where she kept her jewellery. After sifting carefully through powder compacts and eyeliner pencils, tubes of mascara and lip gloss containers, he finally found what he was looking for: a small black ring box. If he could somehow take it without her noticing and get it sized at the jeweller's shop, then when he bought the actual engagement ring, he would know exactly the right size to get. Carefully replacing everything else exactly where he found it, he was just about to—

"Arthur, what are you doing going through my make-up?"

_Shit._

What kind of useless point man was he when he hadn't even heard the water being shut off in the shower, damn it? Mentally cursing his own negligence, he turned around to find Ariadne leaning against the doorframe, wrapped up in a fluffy bath towel with her damp hair dripping onto the floor.

"Arthur," she repeated impatiently.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

"What are you doing?" she asked again, but her voice hitched in her throat as he took three strides across the room to where she was standing and took her in his arms, not caring that his immaculate clothes were getting soaked through. In answer to her question, his mouth found hers and he slowly kissed his way down, and then she no longer sounded accusing when he pulled her over to the bed, the discarded towel long forgotten, and her nimble fingers deftly started to undo buttons with practised ease.

_Distraction technique_, he thought with a grin. _As always, worth a shot._

―

Fearing that he had already unnecessarily aroused Ariadne's suspicions, Arthur resolved to employ a different tactic instead. The following morning in the warehouse, he approached Eames with a thick wad of euro bills. "As much as it pains me to say it, I'm going to have to enlist your help."

The thief/forger glanced from the point man to the cash and back, and his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "So the almighty Arthur needs backup."

Arthur chose to ignore him. "Ariadne's wearing a ring today. I need you to get it for me without her noticing."

Impossibly, the eyebrows continued to levitate. "And why, may I ask, are you stealing from your girlfriend?"

_Soon-to-be-fiancée_, Arthur corrected silently, his stomach doing a somersault, but out loud he said: "I'm not _stealing_; I just need to know her ring size."

The eyebrows were now in danger of disappearing off the top of the Englishman's forehead completely. "And why—"

"I'm paying you to work, not to make inappropriate comments," Arthur hissed, hastily glancing around the room to check that they had not been overheard.

"Ah, in _that_ case then, darling," Eames smirked in sudden comprehension, "I'll do this job free of charge. Consider it a favour between friends, eh, what do you say? You can keep your money, I get to keep my freedom of speech and we have ourselves a little deal." He sauntered away in search of the architect before the point man had a chance to protest.

―

For some unknown reason, Ariadne walked past Arthur's desk five times in the space of the next hour. Usually, he found the alluring sashaying of her hips and the way her jeans hugged her curves to be a pleasant distraction from the tedium of research, but when he had to frantically minimise his internet browser windows every twelve minutes because he couldn't risk being seen on websites like engagement-rings-dot-com… _then_, it admittedly became annoying.

"Arthur, you haven't seen my ring anywhere, have you?" she asked as she paraded around for a sixth time.

Arthur glanced up, feigning innocence. "Nope."

Despite putting on his best poker face, he knew that Ariadne could tell when he was lying. They knew each other well enough for the smallest twitch of a facial muscle or the slightest sideways glance to be as revealing as an open admission. Luckily for him, she was currently too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice this. "That's funny," she mused, "I could've sworn I had it with me this morning."

"I don't know, maybe you dropped it?"

Ariadne chewed on her lip in puzzlement. Kneeling down, she sprawled out on the floor in such a way that could easily be misconstrued as a rather compromising position (Arthur had an excellent view of her behind; memories of the previous night's… _activities_ instantly resurfaced and he had to forcefully haul his mind out of the gutter at this point) and peered under each of the desks in turn. At last, the petite brunette straightened up and threw both arms skywards in exasperation. "I've checked everywhere!" she declared in defeat.

"Well, I'm sure it'll turn up eventually."

"But I was going to take it to the jeweller's today."

Arthur froze. "What?"

"I need to get it enlarged, moved one size up," Ariadne said, twiddling her fingers.

"…"

"What's wrong, Arthur? You're looking a bit pale."

"Did you say that that ring was the wrong size?"

"Yeah. Yeah, why?"

"…"

"Oh my God, you think I'm getting fat, don't you?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"It was clearly implied." Her eyes glinted, posing a dare, a challenge. "Go on, say it. You think I need to lose weight."

"I never—!" He frowned. "Is it that time of month—"

Even before the words had escaped his traitorous tongue, he could almost feel the daggers that were directed like laser beams from her eyes, almost _see_ the awkward silence suspended in the air between them. It was the kind of deafening pressure on the ears that was typically preceded in films by an ominous Wagnerian booming, and it seemed to last forever before Ariadne harrumphed loudly and announced (in audibly italicised capital letters, no less):

"_I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU_."

She stuck to her decision with such fierce determination that Arthur conceded maybe this was going to be even harder than he had previously envisioned. She didn't forgive him when he miraculously reproduced the missing ring afterwards, with the blatantly false explanation that he "happened to find it lying under the drafting table." She had lunch with Eames and Yusuf but archly ignored Arthur when he bought her coffee. She didn't even curl up into him that night like she normally did, and for once stuck firmly and resolutely to her side of the bed.

She only deigned to forgive him for his unspeakable blunder when he told her in earnest words that no, he did not think she needed to lose any weight, and that she was absolutely wonderful and he adored her exactly the way she was, even when she was being cranky and irritable. The smile she gave him then was more than worth the troubles and Arthur suddenly realised that Cobb was right: when it was the right decision, you just _knew._

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**A/N: **Blegh. My standards must be slipping or something, because this is nowhere near my usual calibre, but I guess you have to sacrifice literary value for comic effect. Whatever. Coming up next: Yusuf makes an appearance and Eames, being his fantabulously awesome self, annoys the crap out of Ariadne.


	3. Chapter 3: Colour

**Chapter 3: Colour**

_Tip #3: A little bribery goes a long way._

_Or:_

_Try not to kill Eames. (No matter how tempting it seems.)_

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As expected, Yusuf soon found out about Arthur's plans, no doubt courtesy of Eames' inebriated blabbing after downing a couple too many vodka shots; the forger and alcohol were never a good combination, especially where secrets were involved.

By this point, however, Arthur had realised it was pointless trying to keep his teammates in the dark any longer, so he grudgingly swore them to secrecy – threatening to destroy all of Yusuf's precious concoctions, telling Eames in no uncertain terms that if he didn't keep his jaw hinged then it would be forcefully done for him – and instead chose to exploit their expertise in weaselling information from Ariadne. So while his hired agents ventured out into the field, Commander Arthur retreated to the vantage point of his desk, Montblanc pen and Moleskine in hand, and waited anxiously for his grand scheme to unfold.

Eames, for his part, enjoyed his assignment far too much for Arthur's liking, treating it more as an exercise in flirtation than a reconnaissance mission and carrying it off with aplomb. If nothing else, seeing the generally unruffled point man losing his head at the sight of another man sweet-talking his girl entertained the forger no end.

Leaning down suggestively over Ariadne's desk, Eames put on his most charming voice, silvered words flowing effortlessly from his cultured tongue: "Have you ever considered wearing emeralds, darling?"

The architect blinked, unsure whether she had heard the question properly. "I'm sorry?"

"I said: have you ever considered wearing emeralds?"

She squinted in scepticism. "Is this in any way, shape or form related to the extraction?"

"Lovely, precious green gemstones – though not nearly as lovely or as precious as you are, my dear."

"Eames, are you trying to flirt with me?"

The Englishman affected disbelief at this outrageous insinuation. "Wouldn't _dream_ of it, darling."

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Oh, a pun. How droll."

"That's unfair; I was being serious. Emeralds would help to bring out the colour of your eyes."

"My eyes are brown, Eames. Not green."

Emeralds were promptly crossed off the list.

—

Yusuf, on the other hand, took his task more seriously and went about his line of questioning in a more professional manner. Maybe even too professional.

The chemist had always been chatty by nature, which made him an excellent gossip partner, but Ariadne had never realised just how talkative he could be until she found herself on the receiving end of a lecture on metals that convinced her (as if she needed any convincing) she was grateful her university days were behind her.

Like most students, she had spent sleepless nights in the library in the company of books that weighed at least half as much as she did, and consequently made up for her sleep deprivation during daytime lectures instead. Old habits die hard, as the saying goes, and once Yusuf embarked on one of his long-winded talks, it took the architect every last ounce of effort and self-control she had not to relapse back into her old ways.

She tried to take an interest when he listed the various properties of transition metals – tried and failed, since it only served to remind her why she had dropped Chemistry as a subject at school. She tolerated his discourse on the historical discovery of gold and its early use by the ancient civilisations, resisting the urge to recommend that he go and bore someone else instead. She stifled a barely-suppressed yawn when he began expounding on the symbolic significance of gold: its fascination to alchemists, its use as currency, how its level of purity ensured the reliability of the international gold standard, etc, etc…

She gave up when he got to the part about crown jewels and Faberge eggs, and she had reached the absolute end of her concentration span when Yusuf finally slipped in the crucial question: did she like yellow gold better than white gold, or was she more inclined towards platinum instead? (Speaking of which, platinum was one of his favourite elements and he could go on and on about it if she cared to listen—)

"I'd hate to hurt your feelings," Ariadne said as politely as she could, "but there's a reason why I got my degree in Architecture and not Chemistry."

Yusuf interpreted that to mean 'no preference'.

—

"Rubies would look amazing against your complexion."

Ariadne pulled out her earphones and stared at the forger. "What?"

"A bold burst of colour to go with your exquisite red lips, _chérie_, like natural rouge to complement your skin tone."

"Please tell me you have a good explanation for why you just said that."

Eames pouted childishly and pretended to look offended. "Can't a man give a lady a compliment anymore?"

"Eames, you're great, you really are, but save those pick-up lines for the girls at the bar, OK? I already have a boyfriend."

"I know, love," the forger winked. "In fact, he looks like he wants to kill me right now."

"Very slowly and very, _very_ painfully," Arthur muttered under his breath, his pen almost ripping the delicate paper as he scratched a furious line through the word 'ruby'.

—

"Ariadne, can I ask you something?"

The architect put down her pencil and sketchpad and looked up at her colleague warily. "As long as it doesn't involve being a guinea pig for another one of your Somnacin test experiments, fine."

"What's wrong with the new Somnacin?" Yusuf glowered.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Ariadne hurriedly amended. In truth, the last time she had volunteered to test out the chemical, her dreams had been filled with Technicolour images of Eames prancing around wearing a blinding shade of pink and singing an uncannily accurate, high-pitched rendition of Aqua's '_Barbie girl_' (including Ken's part). The tune got stuck in her head afterwards and she hadn't been able to look him in the eye for days. Nevertheless, as she knew from experience, it would be unwise to admit to Yusuf that there was any fault with his dearly beloved, oh-so-precious chemicals. "What did you say you wanted help with again?" she asked in a tone of resignation.

"I need to know your favourite shape."

By this point, Ariadne was simply too tired to question the motives behind the unusual query so she gave her answer with a weary sigh. "Icosahedron." Technically a geometric solid, not a polygon, but still.

"Icosa-_what_?" Yusuf frowned in bewilderment. The only options on his list for gemstone shapes were: _circle, square, rectangle, oval, heart shape. _"Never mind. Forget that I asked."

—

"Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Botticelli's Venus? The way your hair flows so gracefully reminds me of waves and I can imagine no greater pleasure in Heaven or Earth than to drown in the divine sea of your glossy curls…"

Before entering the extraction business, Eames had dabbled in various other types of counterfeit, including art forgery, and the knowledge had served him well in his love life. Except, of course, for that one time when an untimely slip of the tongue caused him to inadvertently compare a girl to a Picasso portrait, not realising that she was in fact an art student and could therefore tell her Gauguins and Dalís from her Rembrandts and Caravaggios… Anyway, he chose not to dwell on that particular recollection; for the most part, women swooned at such flattery.

Ariadne, however, was decidedly _not_ flattered. "For Christ's sake, Eames!"

"Oh, humour me for once, darling."

"Except that this is the third time today. First you, then Yusuf, now you again… what is this, let's-annoy-Ariadne day? Make-a-pass-on-Ariadne day?"

The guilty party put up his palms in a placating gesture. "Purely platonic, I swear. All I'm trying to say is, following on from my amazingly original ocean analogy earlier, that blue seems like your kind of colour. You should wear it more often, you know? Turquoise and aquamarine, maybe? Or indigo?" He took a deep breath and paused for what he believed to be dramatic effect. "What about… _sapphire_?"

But he only received a murderous glare for his efforts.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Eames continued, unfazed. "How about diamonds, then, to match your starry eyes?"

"Eames." Ariadne's voice was dangerous and low, the word sharp and venomous. "Do not make me repeat myself."

In Arthur's notebook, 'sapphire' and 'diamond' were hastily appended with a strikethrough.

—

By the end of the day, Arthur had ruled out every single item on his list and was in an extremely foul mood indeed. Not only had he wasted an entire afternoon (he had divided the time between resisting the temptation to strangle Eames and trying to think up a more painful method of torture) but he was still no closer to finding out what Ariadne liked than he had been before. The plan had been a failure and if there was one thing Arthur hated more than making mistakes, it was failing.

"You and your blasted s-spec-specificity," Eames complained, rather unhelpfully. "Why not just extract the information from her?"

"Because, smartass," Arthur ground out through gritted teeth, "she can tell when I'm in her mind."

Eames snorted. "Alright then, if you're so bloody concerned with everything being so bloody perfect, why not propose in a dream? If she's the dreamer then she's the one in charge of the details and her subconscious can automatically shape the ring to suit her desires. Then when you wake up you can just go and buy her a real version of the thing, then ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after."

It was an attractive option, Arthur had to admit, and he almost decided then and there to give it a go.

But something held him back.

Because he didn't want to propose in a dream. Regardless of how poetic it sounded, he wanted to make sure that that one crucial moment was special and, most importantly of all, real. No, Arthur resolved; whatever it took, he would find the perfect ring in reality and he would propose to Ariadne in _reality_ – because he needed the assurance, he needed above all else to know that his question and her answer when she gave it to him would be undeniably, unquestionably, undoubtedly _real_.

* * *

**A/N: **Man, I had way too much fun writing Eames there. Sorry if Yusuf was out-of-character, but he was such an underdeveloped character in the film, so I kinda took some creative license there. Oh, and I hope everyone here is familiar with the Barbie girl song? Because (unfortunately) I just don't know how anyone can *not* know it... Anyway, please leave a line or two or more, reviews make me happy. :D Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4: Carat

**Chapter 4: Carat**

_Tip #4: Desperate times call for desperate measures._

_Or:_

_Sometimes you simply have to ask for advice. (Preferably not from Saito, though.)_

* * *

A few days later, however, and still having gleaned no useful intelligence, Arthur found himself in a wholly unfamiliar predicament. He was starting to get _desperate_.

The point man had always prided himself on covering his bases, on having not only Plans A, B and C ready, but an entire alphabet stock of emergency escape routes for all foreseeable circumstances. But he was now long past Z and had nowhere left to turn but to his teammates for advice. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and it was thus that Arthur wound up in the unlikely situation of gossiping with Yusuf on a rainy Monday afternoon.

The chemist, as it turned out, stocked stories the way he stocked chemicals: each was categorised, ordered and labelled in its own specific position to enable instant retrieval on demand. He had an anecdote for literally every occasion and this was no different.

"When my sister got engaged, her fiancé gave her a gold ruby ring," Yusuf recalled, painstakingly measuring out precise dosages of sedatives for each team member. Five pipette drops of an amber liquid went into a vial labelled for Arthur, followed by three drops for Ariadne and six for Eames. "Her fiancé said it was because red and gold were her favourite colours, but I suspect it was because he couldn't afford to buy anything more expensive."

"Did she like it?"

"Sure, _she _liked it. Showed it off to all her unmarried friends for a week. But our dear mother spent the whole time complaining about how my sister was blinded by youthful infatuation and had no sense and why couldn't she have chosen a richer man instead. Anyway, they got divorced after two years; I guess the novelty wore off for my sister and her poor husband just couldn't take our mother's nattering anymore."

"I see."

"My aunt has a favourite saying about there being three rings in a marriage: the engagement ring, the wedding ring and the suffering. Funny how the first two cost a fortune but the third comes free, eh?" He guffawed heartily at his own joke. "I wouldn't listen to her if I were you, though; she's only a batty old spinster who can't find herself a decent husband so she spends her time matchmaking for everyone else instead. In fact, she found my sister a new husband last month. Diamond ring, probably worth a king's ransom, but that's the price of the in-laws' affection, I suppose."

Yusuf then proceeded to launch into an elaborately verbose retelling of every marriage-related story in his family and several that were tangentially unrelated. By the end of the afternoon, Arthur had learned more than he had ever wanted to know about the various predicaments that befell each of Yusuf's fifteen second-cousins once-removed and third-cousins twice-removed, but had gained no meaningful insight into Ariadne's preferences whatsoever.

He made sure to avoid the chemist after that.

—

Unfortunately for Arthur, evading Yusuf's laboratory cubicle inevitably meant gravitating toward the opposite end of the warehouse instead, where a certain forger worked – or rather, kept his feet propped up on the desk whilst browsing through magazines of questionable repute, in a semblance of doing research.

"Dream big" was Eames' only contribution to the discussion, a mantra he repeated over and over again regardless of its suitability to the situation. "No matter what people tell you, size does matter, so dream big. Sweep her off her feet with the biggest rock she's ever seen and you'll be up all night having the best damn sex of your pitifully unadventurous life, wondering why the hell you waited so long before asking."

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

"Actually, scratch that. It's the best sex of your life until the honeymoon," Eames clarified. "Then it all goes downhill from there."

"Not helping, Eames."

"Personally, though, I don't see what all the fuss is about," the forger shrugged. "I mean, aren't diamonds just prehistoric lumps of mud or something?"

From across the room, Yusuf glowered. "Coal, not mud!" he cried, bristling at this inexcusable affront to his area of expertise. "Diamonds are a naturally occurring allotrope of carbon, which is the primary constituent element of coal, which are the pressurised remains of dead plants from millions of years ago!"

"Forgive me," Eames interrupted with a sarcastic drawl. "Chemistry was never my strong subject."

"Did you have any strong subjects?" Yusuf sneered.

"Cut it out, you two," Arthur snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. Ironically, it occurred to him that this was what Cobb must have felt whenever he had tried to break up his and Eames' own squabbles. No wonder the guy was thoroughly enjoying his retirement now – no more having to put up with petty arguments; no more stubborn, bickering idiots to worry about. "I don't know why I even asked for your advice in the first place."

"You didn't, darling," Eames deadpanned, looking immensely self-satisfied at the point man's evident discomfort. "I offered."

—

Saito happened to be in town that same week and so he paid them a visit, bringing with him the customary offering of generous gifts for his 'favourite dream team'. The point man received a set of ties made from the finest silks around the globe, along with the following pearl of wisdom: "I believe it would be neater to buy the whole shop and let her choose. That way, you cannot go wrong."

Arthur didn't even bother asking how Saito knew about the proposal plans; that man always had his sources.

"Choosing the right ring is an extremely important step in ensuring future matrimonial bliss," Saito carried on, and Arthur couldn't quite bring himself to point out the fact that the Japanese businessman himself was hardly a model for marital fidelity, let alone matrimonial bliss. "If you make the wrong choice, you might risk her displeasure, and then what would you be?"

"Fiancée-less?"

"_An old man, filled with regrets, waiting to die alone!_" The older man boomed, and his authoritative voice – a voice that sealed multi-billion dollar deals with a single word – echoed all the way up to the ceiling and caused glass surfaces to shake precariously.

Arthur saw the futility of arguing with a long-time resident of Limbo on that matter, so he did the sensible thing and kept his mouth shut.

"Fortunately," Saito resumed serenely once the windows had stopped vibrating, "I have already taken care of the shop-buying stage. I am, in fact, a major shareholder in Tiffany & Co."

"You own Tiffany's?" Given Saito's reputation, Arthur should have known better than to be surprised.

"Not to mention Harry Winston, Bulgari and Van Cleef & Arpels. It is much easier to avoid suspicion when making purchases for my mistress," the billionaire explained with infuriating nonchalance; he had a habit of casually mentioning various acquired possessions in the same way that normal people mentioned that they owned various articles of clothing. "But perhaps Miss Ariadne would prefer a French jeweller instead? I am in the process of buying out Cartier as we speak."

Arthur just sighed.

—

In the end, Arthur turned to Cobb for help.

"It was easy for me," his former teammate recalled, "I knew exactly what type of ring Mal wanted. But why don't you talk me through your thoughts first? Then maybe we can whittle your ideas down to a solution."

"Alright," Arthur began, mentally flicking through subconsciously filed and indexed notes. "Here's what I've come up with so far: Ariadne's an artist and an architect, so she appreciates beauty in all its forms. Sometimes she's adventurous with her tastes, changing her scarves to match her mood." He paused. "The scarves are the central piece of her wardrobe, but the one constant in her outfit is her watch, the one she wears on her right wrist, with the gold bevel setting on a red leather strap. She's fascinated by change and transition, but what she really loves is the timelessness of vintage pieces."

"So ideally, what you're looking for is a symbol of endurance," Cobb said. "Diamonds would be the most appropriate and maybe platinum, since it doesn't wear or tarnish."

"It would definitely suit her," Arthur agreed. "But nothing overtly flashy; she prefers subtle, understated beauty." He knew that Ariadne shared his penchant for elegant minimalism, smooth planes and clean lines. She also loved symbolism, and there were few symbols more powerful than the perfect circle; an eternal loop, both physically and metaphorically, one half of the allegorical Möbius strip of infinity. "She'll like something clean-cut, something that seems outwardly simple but which captures the attention up close."

"How about a personalised touch?" Cobb suggested. "An engraved message on the inside?"

A smile slowly crept its way across Arthur's face. "I think I know just the thing."

Cobb nodded his approval, even though the point man couldn't see it over the phone. "Trust your instincts and I'm sure she'll love what you pick out for her."

Arthur certainly hoped so.

* * *

**A/N: **So I was walking past this cinema the other day and I just happened to notice that the signboard thing read "always imagine new places" - and guess what came to mind? Maybe I'm reading too much into everything but I THINK IT'S A SIGN.

Um, anyway, hope you liked this chapter. Eames was fun to write as usual, but then again he's my favourite character (although Saito-on-a-shopping-spree comes pretty close). Just one more chapter left to go now and it is the most important one... the proposal! (Cue dramatic music.) Oh, and reviews are welcome, etc. etc. :)


	5. Chapter 5: Perfection

**A/N: **Hi guys , sorry this took so long to upload, I actually finished it ages ago but didn't have time to edit it properly until today... I should just warn you, though, it's rather anticlimactic for an ending and I think the characters are way OOC... but on the other hand you get fluff :)

**

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Chapter 5: Perfection**

_Tip #5: Talking to mirrors can yield unexpected results._

_Or:_

'_Yes' is the most beautiful word in the English language._

* * *

"Before I met you, Ariadne, I never thought I could feel about someone the way that I feel about you. I didn't know what it was like to fall in love. Since we've been together, though, you've turned my world around and now I honestly can't imagine it being – nor do I want it to be – any other way. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I hope you want the same thing too, so I guess what I'm trying to say here, is… will you marry me?"

There was no reply.

Arthur groaned in frustration, shoulders drooping, and his reflection in the mirror followed suit. He was thankful that he was alone in the warehouse (the guys had left long ago and he told Ariadne he needed to work late) and subsequently no one was around to hear him make a fool of himself as he rehearsed his proposal speech. Well, technically speaking, he didn't even _have _a proper speech yet.

At this point, he decided to switch to a different tack and paraphrase a line from a romantic comedy he had watched with Ariadne once, with some extra song lyrics thrown in for good measure:

"I love you more than there are stars in the sky and more than there are drops of water in the oceans. You're the first person that I want to look at when I wake up in the morning and the last person I want to see before I fall asleep at night. When you love someone as much as I love you, truly, madly and deeply, then getting married is the only thing left to do. So will you marry me?" He added as an afterthought: "Please?"

His reflection scowled back. Hmm, somehow that had seemed a lot more convincing in the film. But since he was going to quote others, who better to turn to than the Bard himself? Arthur knelt down with a flourish, ring proffered in one outstretched hand, put on his best Elizabethan-era accent and proclaimed in a faux-theatrical voice:

"'_One half of me is yours, the other half yours,  
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,  
And so all yours.'"_

His reflection grimaced unsympathetically. Shakespeare turned over in his grave.

Arthur shook his head as he stood up and brushed the dust off his trouser leg. "Oh Ari," he sighed to the empty room, "I'm never going to get this right, am I? I mean, we're in the most romantic city in the world here… I guess I should probably take you to a candlelit dinner at your favourite restaurant, a night-time cruise along the Seine accompanied by schmaltzy violin music and then whisk you up to the top of the Eiffel Tower and have the words 'MARRY ME' written across the sky in fireworks or something."

His reflection glowered in response, clearly unimpressed.

"Or if not pyrotechnics then at the very least a trail of rose petals leading up to our suite at the Ritz and a gypsy quartet to play '_Fascination_' like in that Audrey Hepburn film you like so much, although I hope to God you would never choose Gary Cooper over me because he's far too old for you and I can't stand him. But maybe you think he's romantic. That's what this is about, isn't it? I know you say you don't care about that stuff, but I know it wouldn't hurt. I should probably take you ballroom dancing, except that for all my fondness for tuxedos I have never learned how to waltz."

His reflection returned his blank stare.

"Yet instead of doing any of the aforementioned, I'm stuck here in this abandoned warehouse – probably the most unromantic place imaginable – avowing my eternal love to a mirror because I don't have the faintest idea how to go about asking you in person. The best I could come up with is: _Iloveyouwillyoumarryme_?" The words came out in an unintelligible mumble and Arthur sighed. "But that's hardly the proposal of your dreams, hardly the amazingly memorable speech you'll want to look back on again in fifty years' time when we're old and wrinkly and surrounded by our children and grandchildren… because that is what I want, by the way. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives, when we're old and wrinkly and _happy_, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. I just… I just want us to be together, always, and you remind me in my every waking and sleeping moment that reality is better than dreaming because I have _you_, and that's the only thing that matters anymore."

"You're rambling now, but I think I prefer that last one," said a quiet voice from behind him.

Arthur whipped around in surprise. "A-Ariadne!" He was too stunned to move; his nerves seemed determined not to obey his brain signals and so he was rendered immobile and inarticulate. "I, um—wha—that is—I-I thought you left already," he managed to say after a few attempts.

"No, not yet." She looked ever so slightly bemused as she stated the obvious. "I was going over some last-minute changes in the maze levels."

"Uh-huh." He nodded dumbly, the ring clenched in his sweaty palm suddenly feeling much heavier than its denoted carat worth. "I was just—"

"Proposing to the mirror?" she teased. "Nice impression of Portia, by the way. Bassanio would approve, I'm sure."

He blanched. "How long have you been standing there?"

Ariadne laughed affectionately. "Oh, Arthur," she said, walking over to where he was standing. "For a man as clever as you are, you really can be extremely obtuse sometimes. When will you understand that I don't care for the candlelit dinners and the music and the flowers because all I want is to be with you? Hell, if you asked me to marry you while we were standing in the middle of the street with a doughnut in lieu of a ring, I would still say yes."

"You don't even like doughnuts," he managed to say before his brain registered her meaning, before the full implications of her words set in. _If you asked me to marry you—_

Oh. _Oh._

"Ariadne…"

She kissed him, soft and slow and tender. "For the first time that you asked," she replied; "yes, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you too. For the second time that you asked: yes, because you are the first, last and only person I want to see when I'm dreaming and when I'm awake. For the third time: yes, because if mine then yours, so I am already all yours and forever yours. For the fourth time: yes, because the best you can come up with is good enough for me. Yes, because old, wrinkly, happy and surrounded by our children and grandchildren sounds good. Yes, because perfection belongs in dreams but I'll gladly take reality and all of its imperfections as long as it means I can have you."

"And the fifth time?" he whispered, brushing their lips together. "Love you, Ari. Marry me?"

"For the fifth time that you asked, Arthur," she smiled, wondering when they had both turned into such sappy romantics; "yes, absolutely, because I love you too."

He pressed the ring into her hand then, and he saw her eyes widen with – surprise? Delight? He couldn't tell. In the end, he had chosen a platinum band with about a dozen small, channel-set diamonds evenly spaced around its circumference, and one larger princess-cut diamond in the centre, sparkling and prominent but flush-set so as not to disrupt the ring's overall flowing shape. It wasn't as ostentatious as a lone solitaire, but when examined in proximity it shone in equal measure and distributed its radiance evenly around. A study in squares and circles, a fusion of art and mathematics, a jeweller's tribute to geometry.

"There's an engraving on the inside." Ariadne lifted it up to the light for further examination, and smiled as she read the three words that were inscribed in cursive lettering on the interior surface: _This is real._

"Do you like it?" Arthur asked quietly.

In response, Ariadne slipped the ring gently onto the third finger of her left hand – the ring finger, the digit that the Ancient Egyptians believed contained a vein leading straight to the heart – and tilted it an angle so that the diamonds caught the light, a slender halo of brilliance. "It's perfect," she breathed, giving Arthur a kiss. Then she laced their fingers together and they left the warehouse and walked home together; the ring felt cold and hard to the touch where it scraped his skin, but he noticed only that her hand was soft and warm in his.

Ariadne, Arthur realised, had more than 58 facets, more than 58 moods to her ever-changing character. She had just as many flaws, just as many inclusions and blemishes as any other person, but each of her imperfections – her slightly burnt cooking and her oddly accented French, her habit of taking up more than her allotted half of the bed and hogging the duvet – only made her even more endearing to him. They were both imperfect people and yet, somehow, together, they made a perfect fit.

_Fin._

_

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_**A/N: **So that's the end and I hope you enjoyed reading it; if nothing else it was fun letting the other characters share the spotlight for a change, especially Eames. As always, your thoughts/comments would be greatly appreciated so please leave a review - and maybe go and read some of my other A/A stuff too? :) Thanks.


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